


Paradise Lost

by Ooze



Category: DmC: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:26:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ooze/pseuds/Ooze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He molds his own epic: a life of pain and hardship to be followed by triumph and success. (Please excuse the fact that it's written as one lengthy classical allusion.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paradise Lost

It was Paradise he lost. A good life, a good family torn away from his hands—young hands that were only able to give simple affection; not hands that knew hurt, caused hurt, and _craved_ to give it. He’d forgotten how to frolic, to admire, to love. Instead, he learned to kill, to envy, and to hate. From his hands a force surged; through them, he drove his will; and with them came the touch of death. Young hands they were still, but it was violence they brought—the compassionate touch of old innocence was long dead. That boy was dragged to ruin along with Paradise.

And though _Paradise_ was gone, he sought to reclaim it. To usher in a new reality, a brighter future; to bring Paradise to Earth. It was ambition that drove him to the lengths he’d reached, and it was that same ambition that ultimately brought him to his knees, stripping him of everything, demolishing all that he’d worked for. His empire crumbled, and his existence with it. Paradise was close to being regained, but once more it was taken from him. Just as before, his innocence was lost, and the young man was gone.

He thought himself an angel fallen from grace; denied entry into Heaven and banished from Eden. It was Hell that welcomed him, embraced him with infernal arms and drew him into its heart. He’d known Pandemonium. For a time, he burned there, roiling and writhing in fire and brimstone. The abyss swallowed him whole, whereupon he found himself digested in a bath of flames that drowned him, scorched him, melted and molded him. From the inferno he was born anew, a devil in his own right—one that would have made the likes of Lucifer proud. For, though he was only half a devil by blood, it was his spirit that had fully accepted the hellfire that now burned relentlessly within. The flaming tempest had surged throughout his body and crept into every inch of his consciousness. His heart had charred and his soul blackened, leaving only traces of hellish smoke and sulfur that clung in wisps to his seared flesh. He found himself whole, to be a king among devils, a god of fire and fury.

But with this, he was not content. Though he spurned Heaven and the Earth, he spurned Pandemonium, too, and much like Lucifer he clawed through the depths of Hell itself and all that lay in between to return to the human plane. It was his lust for _more_ that brought him thither, along with the envy that he bore of those who’d been allowed to stay, to enjoy the fruits of _their_ trials, while _he_ was cast out, and thus descended into damnation. What cruel irony. His noble intentions and goodwill were forgotten, now replaced by rage and resentment, by shame and dissatisfaction. To suffer treachery at the hands of his own flesh and blood was the turning point in his epic, and after crossing the climax, he now stepped onto the boundaries of resolution.

He had tempted his Adam and Eve before—though his motives were saintlier—but failed to coax them into his legion all the same. He thought to try again, but now only to pave the way for _their_ purgatory. They should not have been excused for their wrongdoing, and instead it was _he_ who had to suffer. Oh, how he would revel in tempting them again, becoming the serpent that draws them forth from their purity. And as they fall, he would rise to take the summit.

Humanity heralded a Second Coming of sorts, but the heavens would not be what it would watch as mankind awaits its savior. He would emerge upon a chariot of crimson darkness, armed with wrath and greed, and a blade forged of pride and power. It was _he_ , a vision of mercy borne of perdition, that would ultimately send the devils and the sinners to their rightful damnation. He would claim his place at the top of the earthly hierarchy, as he once envisioned so long ago when he viewed the world through softer eyes. And as the meek and the fearful and the eternally grateful praise their new lord, he would raise his chalice in pride, and drink from it the water of such deserved justice.

Paradise was not lost. Not the Paradise that he wanted. Though Heaven would never accept him, he lived better with that knowledge. He could not bring Paradise unto Eden, he learned, nor could he replicate the traditional vision of Heaven on Earth. He wouldn’t; not for the masses. Though he was sightless, aimless, he knew he owed nothing to any living thing. Humanity could cower in fear, subjecting itself to the unholy interlopers that now inhabited their world. What’s more, those demons were _his_ to control, leaving humanity his to rule. He need not an idyllic world, so long as it pleased him to live in it. He would make it so if his wish was great enough. A false god he might have become, but a god he would be all the same. He was Lucifer reborn, and this new Eden would be _his_ Paradise alone, with no Adam or Eve to deter him.


End file.
